Chapter 42
Ethan
The door opens, and I step forward.
I open my mouth to ask why Tilda was hiding, because I could tell she was standing against the door, but then she comes into focus, and I can no longer remember my question.
The sun is setting on the other side of the house, and the glow coming through the window outlines the woman before me.
She’s…
My eyes lower.
Christ.
She’s hardly wearing anything.
I went home. Showered. Thought of her. Resisted touching myself. Put on jeans and a ratty flannel.
And she…
She’s wearing nothing but a see-through shirt.
I’m here to check on her.
I’m here to be a decent human. To check on Jack’s Matty, like I said I would.
I flex my jaw.
I’m not here to fuck her.
“Why were you using the laundromat?”
She blinks at me. “W-what?”
I clear my throat and use every shred of willpower I can find to keep my eyes on her face and off her tits.
“Why aren’t you using the washer and dryer here?” I try to keep the sharpness out of my voice, but I don’t quite manage.
Tilda digs her teeth into her lower lip as she crosses her arms over her tits.
I relax my shoulders.
I’m here to help.
“Is there a problem with them?” This time I manage to sound civilized.
She starts to move her arms, like she’s going to uncross them, then remembers she’s covering herself and keeps them crossed. “They don’t work.”
I keep my eyes on hers. “Show me.”
She hesitates, just for a heartbeat, and I feel like I should step back. Offer to leave. Apologize for coming here in the first place.
But then she turns and walks toward the bedroom.
Her bedroom.
My feet follow. And my eyes drop.
The outline of her green underwear is visible through the see-through top she’s wearing. And I watch as each step makes her ass jiggle.
My cock notices the movement too.
I press a palm against my thickening length and lift my gaze to the ceiling.
I asked to see her washing machine. She’s bringing me to that. Not her bed.
But when I follow her into the bedroom, my eyes go straight to the damn bed.
The bedspread is dark purple. It’s smooth, with the top corner folded down, like she just made the bed. Her pillowcases are pink with a delicate floral design, and they also look perfectly smooth.
It’s all quite pretty.
Girly.
Very Mountain Fairy.
The sound of the closet door opening drags my attention away from the bed.
I spot the stacked washer and dryer in the corner of the closet, then watch as Tilda pulls a gray hoodie off a hanger before she steps aside.
I keep my focus on the appliances but see her pull the sweatshirt on out of the corner of my eye.
Shame. But for the best.
I test the dials. Press buttons. But it doesn’t react.
My hand reaches for the dresses hanging beside the machines, but before I touch them, I look over my shoulder at Tilda.
She’s standing just a few feet away, hoodie zipped, and her hands in the pockets.
I tip my head toward her clothes. “May I?”
She nods.
I slide the hangers down the bar, bunching her pretty dresses together. Then I lean in and look behind the machines, making sure they’re connected correctly.
“Have you been in here before?”
I straighten, then answer Tilda’s question. “The house, yes. But not the bedroom.”
“Then how did you know these were here?”
I turn to face her. “I remember Jack talking about getting them serviced not too long ago.”
“Oh.” She glances at the dryer over my shoulder. “Why’d you come inside?”
What a way to word that.
I glance at the bed, then clear my throat again. “Jack invited me in for coffee a few times.”
Tilda hums.
“Have you checked the breaker?”
Tilda slowly shakes her head.
“I’ll do it. Where is it?”
She bites her lip again, and an unpleasant emotion crawls through my chest as I watch her lower her chin to her chest.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say before she can tell me she doesn’t know. “I’ll be right back.”
Striding out of the room, I glance around the main living space, then step out the front door and cross over to the garage.
There is no side door, but Tilda left the main garage door open after returning home, so I step through and immediately spot the electrical panel on the wall where the garage backs up against the house.
Opening the panel, I think about all the times Jack complained about this garage.
Saying how small it was. How the overhead door should’ve been put on the back side so it’d be easier to get in and out of. There was another time when he told me that he wanted to convert the garage, expand the house, then build a proper two-car garage on the other side of the driveway.
Dreams that never became reality.
I find the breaker labeled Laundry and see that it’s in the off position.
The rest of the breakers are on, so I don’t know if Jack flipped this one before he left for the winter or if it got tripped, but I push it to the on position.
Done, I close the panel and head back to the house.
Tilda isn’t visible when I step inside, and when I close the door behind me, I take a moment to untie my boots, and I leave them next to Tilda’s pile of discarded shoes.
This time, as I cross through the living room, I look around.
The TV has the old animated version of Alice in Wonderland playing quietly on the screen.
A handful of brightly colored pillows are on the couch, and a trio of candles on a tray sits on the coffee table.
And I didn’t fail to notice the duck pool and bowl of food in front of the house.
I start to smile as I think about Tilda giving safe haven to a wild duck, but as soon as I step into the bedroom, my smile vanishes.